


The Winter Neighbor

by dottieapple



Category: Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Background Slash, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes is a good neighbor, Gen, Kittens, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottieapple/pseuds/dottieapple
Summary: Bucky Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier, is living in a normal-looking house in Indiana. Sharon Carter lives with him, and they are undertaking a mission, working together so Bucky can help those with checkered pasts start a normal life if they want it--lives away from HYDRA and other baddies.But his elderly next-door neighbors just know him as a nice young man, and today, they're the ones who need his help.





	The Winter Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> Until a couple of days ago, we as a collective comics fandom were uncertain of the origins of Alpine the cat in the just-ended Winter Soldier comic mini-series. _(Writer Rod Reis then gave a brief Alpine-as-lone-survivor of a litter of kittens by the side of the road, saved by Bucky scenario, via Twitter reply to a fan.)_
> 
> But in an effort to make soft things in April, and the Cap Twitter Fandom's #indulgeyoself2k19 campaign, here we are. 
> 
> I'm going to say NOT canon-compliant because Stucky is never completely canon-compliant. Their relationship comes up, but this is not a story about SteveBucky. In my mind, Steve is serving as Commander Rogers somewhere, hair graying, not quite old man Steve. He and Bucky do their own thing but also still operate as partners.
> 
> If that as a background concept and a grounding concept for Bucky's healing/wellbeing bothers you, well, I'm not sorry. This is fan fiction.
> 
> Fanfic about being nice to your elderly neighbors and meeting their outdoor kittens who shelter in a doghouse. ON WITH THE FLUFF!
> 
> Big thanks to panacea_knits and frostbitebakery for sparking the twitter discussion that put the plotbunnies in my head. [Check out this sketch of Bucky and his new best friend/murderfloof, baby Al!](https://twitter.com/snoozebuttonfig/status/1116429963543105536) And remember, kids, reposting art is garbage-person behavior. Retweet and attribute!

The doorbell rings. Sharon had run out to Kroger for milk and bread, so Bucky knows he needs to answer it. He reminds himself this is Shelbyville, Indiana and not Brooklyn. Someone will actually wait for him to come to the door. “Just a minute!” he bellows, cheerfully as possible. He scrambles to his feet from downward dog and flips his hair into a messy bun. He straightens his sleeveless top as he pads to the front door. 

 

Bucky is cautious, as he wasn’t expecting anyone. He knows where the knife is hidden, just to the right of the doorframe, behind the framed photo of Steve and Bucky, grinning at Coney Island covered in cotton candy during the Mermaid Parade.  There is a sidearm in the drawer beneath the vintage rotary phone, which Sharon insisted was a piece of _ charming, Midwestern shabby chic _ , whatever the hell that means. It’s a mint green phone that isn’t connected to anything. He still doesn’t understand, but it keeps Sharon quiet.

 

The A.I. Tony Stark had installed in the house hasn’t indicated any kind of threat, and its facial recognition capacity is shockingly accurate. Bucky sees on a small video screen beside the entrance that it’s the old woman who lives next door, Mrs. Jenkins. She’s wearing a dirty gingham apron over her clothes and a floppy sun hat. Bucky opens the door to greet her. 

  
  
“Hello, Bucky!” she smiles, warm as pie straight out of the oven. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

 

“Oh, no, Mrs. Jenkins,” he grins back. “What can I do for you? Everything all right?” Bucky suspects this tiny woman, though elderly, is a spitfire. She and her husband always wave if they see him, even if he’s heard them bickering at their picnic table out back. Mr. Jenkins is always puttering in the yard and will lean over the fence to tell Bucky about his latest gardening experiments. 

 

There is a look that might be a little wry as Mrs. Jenkins clasps her hands together. “Harry and I have been cleaning out the garage, but there are few things that I’m having some difficulty moving. I was hoping maybe I could borrow a strapping young lad like yourself for a few moments?”

 

Despite his best efforts to stay neutrally friendly, Bucky preens at being called a strapping young lad. Not bad for having a good twenty-five years on the woman. “Absolutely,” he responds with his charming grin, the one Steve says has been breaking hearts since the early 1930’s. “Anything you need, Mrs. Jenkins. I’m not busy today.” 

  
  
“Please,” Mrs. Jenkins almost blushes, “by all means, call me Betsy. You come on over when you’re ready. I made iced tea and lemonade too.” 

 

Bucky pulls on some sneakers and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It’s best to cover the arm for now. Tony had warned him during his last visit about “scaring the straights”, although he and Steve had required some explanation. As it turns out, 21st century Indiana is still conservative in a lot of places. It made more sense after that.

 

Bucky breathes in a deep lungful of late spring air as he crosses the yard. He thinks he should ask Mr. Jenkins if he has any recommendations for flowers to plant out front. If he’s going to make this operation work using Shelbyville as a home base, his home should at the very least  _ look _ like someone cares about living there.

 

“Hello?” he calls out as he steps into the open garage next door. “Mr. Jenkins? Betsy?” He smells cigarette smoke. Marlboros. He knows the scent by heart. Can’t remember the details of his first kiss with a girl, but supersoldier serum has granted him a plethora of enhanced sensory recall for the dumbest shit. He only feels nostalgic if somebody lights up from pack of Luckies. Then it’s all New York evenings and small-Steve’s bird-bones under his careful fingers. He shakes his head as if to clear the pictures.

 

“Oh,  _ Betsy _ is it now?” comes Mr. Jenkins friendly rasp. 

  
  
“Harry,” says Betsy, put-upon from somewhere in the garage. 

 

Harry shakes Bucky’s hand, his grip very solid for a man on one side of 80 years or another. “Thanks for comin’ by, Buck. Got two problems I can’t solve myself. Three, if you like animals.”    
  
Bucky doesn’t exactly understand what Mr. Jenkins means, but he nods. “Show me the way, I’ll do whatever you need.” 

 

Bucky obediently moves some heavy boxes and old cement blocks. He grabs a ladder at Harry’s instruction and pulls some stored items out from the eaves of the garage. “Used to belong to the kids,” Harry says. “Can’t get ‘em to take anything. But I guess they don’t have much use for thirty-five year old bicycles. Go ahead and throw them in the back of the truck.” Bucky puts the rusty bikes and some scrappier items into Harry’s large pickup. It only takes him about fifteen minutes to finish the job.

 

“Betsy!” Harry calls into the house through an open window. “Did you make that iced tea? How about a couple glasses for some busy men?”

 

“I already told you I did,” comes a response from somewhere indoors. In a few moments, she emerges from around the back of the house holding two glasses. “I hope you like it with lemon, Bucky.” 

 

“Thanks, ma’am.” He smiles. While Bucky sometimes misses the bustle of the city, he only loves the city when Steve is home to enjoy it with him. The pace of life in Indiana suits him when he’s not working. “Uh, there was...a third thing you mentioned? Something about animals?”

 

“Do you like cats, Buck?” Harry spares no time. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

 

“Well, no, I don’t think--”

 

“So Daisy, she’s our outside cat, she’s had some kittens. Sweet little things, but we can’t take care of them. Daisy keeps the little critters out of the garden, and in turn she’s got a house out back and I leave her some food now and then. Just don’t have room for the babies,” Harry says.

 

Betsy shoots him a look, as if to say  _ Now, Harry _ ; it’s a look Bucky thinks is universal. Winnifred to George when he was a boy, Steve to him in the kitchen a month ago. “No pressure, Bucky,” she says. “Also if you’re interested, you might want to talk to your wife first.” 

 

Bucky nearly spits out his drink, but recovers enough to put on a pleasant face and huff out a laugh. “Oh, that’s not my wife.”

 

“Really?” Harry seems surprised. “A nice lookin’ fella like you and a leggy blonde like that? You just living together?”

 

“ _ Harry _ ,” laughs Betsy. She’s holding what appears to be lemonade, but Bucky can smell an alcoholic bite to it. “Don’t be rude to our guest.”

 

Bucky doesn’t talk about the other leggy blond, the  _ Commander _ ; he’s not sure they’re  _ that _ close of neighbors. Not yet. “You probably mean Sharon. She’s my older sister.” It was the cover they’d decided on if anyone asked questions. A close, familial relationship would also mean neighbors would trust them together as a unit. “Sharon travels a lot. She does government work.”

 

“C’mon, honey,” Betsy coos at Bucky. “You wanna go see the babies?”   
  
“Sure,” Bucky practically flirts with his eyes. Just a reminder he can still turn on the charm when he needs to. Harry follows them across the back patio to a small doghouse. Tiny mewing noises come from inside.

 

“Your sister, what does she do for the government?” Harry asks, innocently. He’s just a friendly old guy who’s inquisitive. “She a spy like that Black Widow lady? Saw her on the news again yesterday.” 

 

“Nah,” Bucky responds, nonchalant despite the lump in his throat. “Department of the Interior. Something with numbers and figures- pretty secretive, but also really boring.” He’s not entirely lying to the nice old couple. Sharon’s mostly analyzing threats these days, only spending time in the field to tell other people what to do. Running facts for Steve and Tony. 

 

Betsy reaches down into the little house and a small calico cat walks out, rubbing its face on her shoes.  _ Daisy _ , Bucky thinks. She stretches and purrs, and then a couple of little ones with pointy tails make their way outside. They are wobbly on their tiny feet. Bucky’s heart starts to melt, but a cat is the last thing he needs right now, right? He’s going to help people with checkered pasts rebuild their lives, get back on their feet. If he could escape HYDRA, surely others could too given the right resources. 

 

Betsy takes Bucky’s left hand and holds it open. She places a little gray fluff-ball with white toes on his palm. He quickly cups his other hand underneath the kitten. “What happened?” Betsy asks, gently, nodding her head sideways at the metal arm. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

 

“I’m a vet,” he explains quickly, without nuance. “Army.” The gray kitten blinks its little blue eyes up at Bucky then hops down from his two hands into the grass, where it immediately begins to bat tentatively at a dandelion. Suddenly, a small white blur runs up and butts into Bucky’s shoe. It bounces off then reaches a teeny-tiny leg to bat at its sibling. It doesn’t succeed in making contact, but it fuzzes up, hopping sideways and hissing.

 

“Oh my,” says Harry, looking at the snow-white ball of miniature fury. “Got a feisty one there.” He makes a knowing sort of face at his wife. “Maybe we name her Betsy.” Betsy rolls her eyes, but it tugs on Bucky’s heartstrings. He laughs, fond, and Betsy shoots him a questioning look.

 

“If it was a boy, maybe I’d name him Steve. I used to have a little, angry friend growing up. He was,” and Bucky sighs, picking up the unhappy white kitten in his metal hand, “a lot like this. Runt of the litter. Always getting into a fight.” The white kitten calms down. Bucky cups his hands together again, and it settles there. The kitten sits down and purrs.

 

“Pretty sure that one’s a girl,” Harry tells Bucky. “Might be just like your Steve, though, if she wants to be your friend. Can’t imagine your friend ever beat you up if he’s a little guy.” 

 

Bucky scoffs. “You’d be surprised.” He tucks the kitten into the crook of his arm. Its fur is unmarred bright white, like snow on a mountain. Like the Alps, winter, 1943- but only in color. It was never this soft. 

 

“Where’s your friend now?” Betsy asks.

 

Bucky almost chokes and manages to play it off as a small cough. He feels heat creeping up on the back of his neck, but he’s always been good at bullshitting. “Still in the Army. Made a career out of it, believe it or not.” 

 

Harry laughs, “Always those little guys. All tough and tactical. I did a stint in Korea, and the little guys in our unit were the maddest sons of bitches I’d ever seen.” 

 

Bucky throws his head back and laughs freely. Sometimes he forgets that enhanced humans and normal humans aren’t often that different. He settles next to Betsy at the picnic table, putting the white kitten belly-up on his lap. Betsy looks over. “Definitely a girl,” she says, acknowledging the obvious now that the cat’s underside is visible.

 

The kitten looks up at Bucky with huge blue eyes, almost the color of the ocean, or a sky at dusk. Bucky gently tickles her tiny, fuzzy belly. He rubs her itty-bitty paws with the greatest of care between his thumbs and index fingers, flesh and metal. Her toes are bright pink and warm. Bucky plays with her feet and she purrs. “Alpine,” he says. 

 

“Pardon, son?” asks Harry.

 

“Her name is Alpine,” Bucky says. “Al for short.” He checks the communicator on his right wrist. Sharon will be back from her grocery run any minute. “Hey, I gotta get going, but uh, you’ll take care of her? Until she’s big enough to leave Daisy. I’ll come get her.” 

 

“Oh, Buck, that’s wonderful,” Betsy smiles, as if that’s all she really wanted from the day. And maybe it was.

 

Alpine goes from her restful state to batting at Bucky’s wiggling fingers, thrashing around, still purring. Bucky grabs her around the middle with his metal hand again, avoiding claws and pointy kitten teeth. He sets her gently back into the cat shelter with her siblings. 

 

“I’m right next door, and so is Sharon, if you ever need anything at all,” Bucky says. Betsy gives him a one-armed hug goodbye, and Harry smacks him on the back. 

 

“See ya ‘round, Buck!” Harry calls. “I might need help with some weeding tomorrow if you’re not busy!”

 

Bucky walks back to HQ, which he’s thinking is more and more like home. He wonders if he can convince Sharon to convince Fury to reimburse him for cat care supplies. People these days have all kinds of emotional support animals, right? He pulls out his smart phone to search for kitten beds and sends off a little note to Steve.

 

_ Hey punk, how do you feel about pets? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, pals! 
> 
> I'm on Twitter yelling about Steve and Bucky, come visit me: [@dottieapplesez](https://twitter.com/dottieapplesez)


End file.
